


Confessions

by ritsuko



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The First Avenger, Feels, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rejection, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Bucky's last night before shipping out, and Steve has something to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I love you, Bucky."

How four simple words could wreck your whole life. He could tell, immediately, just the way that the other man's face fell, the way he tensed in his perfectly fitting dress uniform, that was nothing that he wanted to hear. Steve swallowed hard, immediately feeling out of breath, like his lungs were going to seize up.

Bucky recovers quickly, a wincing smile creeping across his lips. "You know I care about you too, Steve You're my best friend. No need to get all sappy on me." Steve frowned, opening his mouth to say something, when the other man cut him off. "C'mon, I bet the girls are waiting for us. "

Steve groans internally. The last thing he wants to do is go dancing with a couple of ladies that he KNOWS aren't going to be interested in him. To be fair, he's not interested in them either. Maybe Bucky just doesn't get it. Maybe he hasn't been that straight forward. All he knows is that in just a few scant hours, the object of his affection is going to ship out to Europe, leave him behind so he can be in the 107th and fight in the war.

It's not fair.

Neither is his giant laundry list of ailments, but it's his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky remains a step ahead of Steve, a safe distance from having to look him in the eye. It's uncomfortable, Steve wears a shroud of melancholy so thick that it practically coats the air.

It isn't fair, not by a long shot. But Steve is small and frail and sick and Bucky can't imagine him holding a gun let alone trudging through dangerous occupied countryside. At least in New York, he'll be safe. 

At least in New York, he'll live.

Bucky can't help but be proud, getting the 107th, being able to at least be there in Steve's stead. At first, the thought of going to was was exciting, patriotic, heroic even. Now all he can think of is the man he's going to leave behind. His best friend. Who will make sure he takes his medicine, and keep his apartment warm enough, watch him when he's sick to make sure that his breathing doesn't rattle through the night? A pang goes through Bucky, and he fights to keep the grimace off his face.

He's proud to serve, to help in any way he can. But it's no secret what a shit show it is over there, how many men have died. It's more likely he'll be buried somewhere in the French countryside than home, nothing sent back but his tags and a folded flag. Would that be the end of James Buchanan Barnes?

It was more than he can bear, the thought of Stevie all alone.

That's why he wouldn't, couldn't, acknowledge the other man's feelings. 

It would only make things harder if the worst happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The World Exposition of Tomorrow doesn't hold much for Steve. Everyone's all eyes to the future, and he can't even stand to think about his own, how in just mere hours the most important facet of it would be gone. 

Bucky's all charm and smiles, laying it on thick with Bonnie and Connie. It almost makes him sick. If for once, Bucky would look at him that way. . . Steve shakes his head. There's nothing attractive about self pity.

After several failed attempts of trying to flirt with Bonnie (or is it Connie) he gives up. The hovering car of the future that Howard Stark is showing off should be impressive, but he's never needed a car, would never be able to afford one. 

He sees the enlistment poster, and it doesn't take much to slip away. He has to try again. He has to. He needs this, to be able to matter, for people to see him as more than he is. He needs to be with Bucky. How could he ever live with himself if he never saw Bucky again, if this as the last night they would ever have together?

Maybe the only important thing he could ever do is take a bullet for the man he loves.

He can see Bucky's reflection for a split second in the mirror just before he claps him on the shoulder, face perfectly reflected in the space where the soldier's should be.

Where his face should be.

"C'mon, you're kind of missing the point of a double date." He jokes, before stepping back leaving the spot black again. "We're taking the girls dancing."

Exactly the opposite of anything that Steve wants to do. Already, he turns away, determined to get to the recruitment station. "You go ahead. I'll catch up with you."

Bucky stares at him a long moment. "You really gonna do this again?" There's no doubt about the disappointment lacing his voice.

"Well, it's a fair. I'm gonna try my luck."

"As who? Steve from Ohio?" Bucky retorts, starting to get indignant. "They'll catch you, or worse, they'll actually take you." 

The words are like a slap. Just how little that Bucky thinks he can do. How little he matters. He grits his teeth. "Look, I know you dont think I can do this. . ."

"This isn't a back alley, Steve, It's war." Bucky's voice is cold for a moment, serious, and anger flares in the smaller man.

"I know it's a war-"

Bucky interjects. "Then why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs."

Steve can feel irritation welling within him. "What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?"

"Yes!" The word is out of Bucky's mouth before Steve even finishes his sentence, and it only amplifies the pain of just how much of a burder he seems to be to his best friend. "Why not?"

Steve closes his eyes, shame and irritation piquing. "I'm not gonna sit in a factory Bucky." The other man tries to interject again, but Steve presses on. "Bucky, there are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."

Their gazes lock, and it's the truth. It's about upholding freedoms, keeping people safe. Helping people being bullied on a whole other continent that need help desperately. It's for ever man that's gone over the Atlantic and Pacific and never come back home. 

It's about not losing his best friend. His only friend. The one he loves.

Bucky sighs. "Right. 'Cause you've got nothing to prove."

They look at each other another long moment, and Steve swallows. Even though there's people all around, even though anyone could hear and laugh or be disgusted by his feelings, he doesn't care. He needs Bucky to know. With all his heart, with all his soul. This can't be the last time they will see each other, if only until the war is over. 

"Bucky, what I told you before. I meant it. Not like friends, not like brothers, like. . ." He watches those steely eyes cloud over, face shutting down. The pit of his stomach falls out, and like a coward he can't say the words, can't affirm his feelings. 

Slowly, Bucky opens his mouth to speak.

"Hey Sarge, Are we going dancing?" One of the girls calls, and Bucky slightly turns away towards the sound. Steve purses his lips, inadvertently turning closer to the recruitment office.

"Yes we are." He calls to the girls, back to Steve. Then he turns back guiltily. Steve can't even look him in the eyes anymore, the two feet between them like an as far as New York to Normandy.

And then Bucky steps backwards, shaking his head. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

Steve wants to scream, to throw a childish tantrum and cry. Why the hell would Bucky want to even think about spending his last night with anyone but him?

Except it's obvious. Just the thought, the idea of being that way with Steve repulses him.

He tries to smile, tries to act as if his world isn't crashing down. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

Bucky sighs, and smiles, and quickly steps back up to his friend, enveloping him in his arms. "You're a punk."

He relaxes into those arms, willing himself to remember the strength in those arms, the smell of Bucky's aftershave, the texture of his uniform and the muscles underneath. "Jerk."

It's only a couple of seconds, and then they release, Bucky stepping back. Steve feels his breath hitch, like he's going to have an asthma attack, but he knows it's far worse than that. It's like a piece of himself has been cut away, and now he's supposed to go on living without it. "Be careful." He murmurs, and Bucky tips his head in a solemn nod, before walking off. He can feel tears starting to form in his eyes. After a moment, boldly, he states, "Don't win the war 'til I get there!"

Bucky turns, face neutral, and salutes him. He's silhouetted against the bright lights of the expo; tall and handsome and charming with his cocked hat and his cupid bow lips and Steve has to fight to keep his breathing even. Quickly, Bucky turns to the waiting women, hurrying away, lightheartedly saying, "C'mon girls, they're playing our song."

The most beautiful person in the world, the only person he's let close enough to love is leaving him.

And he doesn't feel the same.

He turns back to the pavilion, quickly rushing down the hall. He can see the giant poster of Uncle Sam declaring 'I WANT YOU'. Steve grimaces.

Maybe this time, someone will.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of dialogue from The First Avenger. Trying to keep it as canon as poss.

"James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven. . ."

The words are a mantra, a prayer. But each and every time they slip past his lips, he can feel cracks, can feel his very being slipping away. He's not even sure those are all of the numbers, or what some of the syllables mean. No one could have known the darkness at the core of the Nazi party, the tentacles of HYDRA that had slipped into each and every facet to use as a cover.

He had been so blind, to get his men captured. Too cocky. And here he was, strapped to a table after being beaten and had needles jammed into his veins full of God knew what and that damn bespectacled rat trying to tell him up was down and the sun was the moon.

His rank was all he had, his name. 

And Steve's.

His heart hurt to think of those blue eyes, so indignant, so hurt when he'd left him that night at the expo. He should have stayed, should have spent the evening with his best friend in the world, instead of goofing off with two dames that didn't care about anything but a good time with no strings attached.

But he hadn't been brave enough. Had he known this would be the outcome: failure, capture, torture and most likely death, he would have held Steve all night long, told him just how much he meant to him.

Steve deserved more than that. More than a tumble and hope that someday he'd be back.

He knows now he never will.

"James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven. . ."

Bucky lays a long time, fading in and out of consciousness. He thinks that maybe, he can hear the punchy staccato of bullets being fired, but it could just be his imagination, those toxins they've been pumping into him playing with his mind and turning it to putty.

"James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven. . ."

Something that sounds like explosions registers, but he remains blank faced. Don't give in. Just keep reciting. Praying.

Think of HIM.

Footsteps wander into the room, and a shocked voice registers across is senses. ""Bucky? Oh my God. . ."

The soldier is already tearing at the straps binding him to the table. He's afraid, afraid that it's just another HYDRA trick, that they'll pretend to free him and chase him down and beat him again for kicks. But the straps come free and a face comes into his vision.

His brain feels foggy from disuse. "Is that. . ?

"It's me. Steve." The other voice assures him.

His mantra. His prayer. "Steve. . ."

"Come on." The other man reaches for him, hand gentle on his arm.

"Steve." Even in the darkness, he catches the familiar glint of blue eyes.

The soldier helps him up off of the table, worry evident in his face. "I thought you were dead."

And then, like magic, the fog lifts. He blinks, over and over, brain not comprehending what his eyes see. It's Steve, but he's different. Huge. Not the small and sickly, stubborn and proud man that he loves, but all he has to do is see those baby blues and he knows that they are one and the same.

"I thought you were smaller. . ."

Steve supports his weight, pulling him from the room he has grown to loathe, and he can only think of how good that arm feels around him. How many times he had held Steve through coughing fits, or wrapped an arm around the other man when he'd been bullied.

"What happened to you?" He asks, incredulity in his voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve's lip curl into a smile "I joined the army."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Just go, get out of here!" Steve calls to him, across the gap, and his answer is so insistent, so full of demand that he feels his feet root to the spot. 

"No! Not without you!"

There's so much he wants to say. So much he should have said. That everyone else be damned, whatever this feeling is, they belong together. He should have never tried to fight it before.

He won't leave. Not without Steve. They're so close to being reunited and being together and him finally being able to tell him what he should have, back at the Expo, back when Sarah Rogers died, even back when they were kids.

There's no reason to live in this world without Steve.

His heart nearly stops as Steve's feet leave the walkway, flying towards him through the air, explosions left and right. Bucky reaches his hand out, bracing against the fencing.

Everything feels so right when those gloved fingers lace through his own, and he pulls Steve next to him. For a split second they gaze in each others eyes, and they're so close. Bucky almost leans in-

The walkway rattles, hinges whining. Immediately, they're on their feet running. 

There will be time, he reasons, time before anything else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He'd thought that as soon as they'd get back to the camp, maybe they'd have a moment alone, maybe he'd be able to get Steve somewhere so they could talk.

But they return and he's a big hero and everyone wants a minute of Captain America's time. It hurts a little, as Steve walks away with the higher ups, but he tries to ignore it. That and the look that passes between him and the lady.

Agent Carter. The men know she's a real gem, calculating and smart, pure fire and ferocity wrapped up in a beautiful bow. He's heard talked that she's decked privates in the face before for disrespect, and that no one dares catcall her.

He can see the look in Steve's eyes, one of softness and adoration.

A look that used to be reserved for him.

Bucky watches his best friend walk away, and feels as lonely as Steve must have the night he left him at the expo.

He's been so stupid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They're always busy. Always surrounded. They're flown to London, Steve sequestered away for important debriefings, and Bucky tries to drink his irritation away, but it festers. 

He can't be mad, it's not fair. This was all Steve had ever wanted, to be in the army, to make a difference. He just knocks back drink after drink, trying to numb the feeling that he no longer is as important to Steve as he once was.

When Steve finally arrives at the pub, he talks with the rest of the men, asking for their assistance. Bucky knows that none of them will say no, after all they've been through. He's never been one to stop halfway through a mission, and the rest of the Howling Commandos are the same.

"See? I told you. They're all idiots." Bucky's already raising the glass to his lips

"How about you?" Steve asks, "You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"

It's not hard to recognize that twinge of masked dissent, a slight hope of please-just-say-you-want-to-go-home-you've-been-through-enough. Bucky had tried that too many times with Steve trying to join the army.

"Hell no." He states, aware of the blonde's eyes on him as he looks into his glass. "That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight." He looks up, meeting those baby blues. "I'm following him."

They gaze at each other, a moment longer than most men would be comfortable with. To Bucky's disappointment, Steve looks away first. He takes another drink as the silence starts to stretch.

He takes another drink, wetting his lips. "But you're keeping the outfit, right?"

Steve looks away, smirking slightly at a poster of him in the uniform behind them. "You know what? It's kind of growing on me."

Their eyes meet again and he swallows. It's the middle of a crowded bar, the kind of place that anyone could hear. Sure, they're celebrating, but anyone could overhear and report them and get him kicked out. Get them both kicked out, Captain America or not. 

"Steve, I wanna talk to you, about. . . before. Back in New York." He can see the tension rise in the other man, neck taut as he swallows, eyes clouding slightly with rejection. Bucky's not sure if it's remembering being rejected, or he's about to reject him now. "I just, It shouldn't have been like that. I didn't want to-" 

Steve's eyes move from his, lighting up, and he's fully aware that the pub has gotten quiet. He turns on his stool to see Agent Carter, framed in the doorway, looking like a vision in red. 

"Captain." The soft note of her voice carries across the room in the wake of the soldier's silence.

"Agent Carter." Steve replies.

"Ma'am." Bucky greets, looking her up and down. Definitely a beauty, but she catches him looking and seems to read it the wrong way, as intention instead of sizing up the enemy. She turns herself fully away from him to talk the the blonde.

"Howard has some equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning?" She asks, but they all know that it's more of a 'be there' than an invitation.

"Sounds good."

There is an awkward silence, the three of them looking between one another. Well, no, that's wrong. Because she doesn't look at Bucky at all, just glances past him like he doesn't even exist, out into the room where the rest of the Commandos are. Bucky glances out into the room a moment longer to resist the urge to get her to acknowledge him.

It's obvious she wants Steve alone, but Bucky's not going to budge.

"I see your top squad is prepping for duty." Maybe it's the distaste in her tone, maybe just the accent, but something about it rubs him the wrong way. After all they're been through, the men can stand for a little drunken revelry. It's not hurting anyone.

"You don't like music?" Bucky asks, a teasing tone rolling out naturally.

She doesn't look at him, just keeps those eyes focused on Steve as if they're the only two people in the room, in the world. "I do actually." Peggy and Steve continue to stare at each other, something passing between them, and Bucky's heart lurches. "I might even, when all this is over, go dancing."

Such an obvious flirt.

But Bucky isn't going to let his friend forget he's here.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Bucky asks, desperate for her to stop looking at Steve like that, hungry and interested and wanting. Steve seems totally ensnared.

"The right partner." She states, lips quirking up as she gazes into those baby blues. Steve doesn't move a muscle, trapped by that gaze.

"0800, Captain." She confirms, before turning on her heel and starting to walk away.

"Yes ma'am. I'll be there." Steve calls after her.

Bucky grits his teeth. 

"I'm invisible." Bucky says, trying to cover his irritation. "I'm turning into you. It's like a horrible dream."

Steve's eyes flash for a moment with hurt. There's no real way to take it back. How do you tell someone that always felt undesirable that what you said wasn't what you meant?

"Don't take it so hard. Maybe she's got a friend." Steve claps him on the shoulder and turns back to the bar. Bucky catches the sarcasm.

He plops back down onto his stool, disheartened. Steve takes a drink, and Bucky tips the rest of his back, motioning to the bartender for another. He keeps waiting for the warm fuzziness of the alcohol to reach his brain, but it doesn't. Bucky feels cold and totally coherent and useless.

Steve rises from the table. "I should probably get to bed. 0800 is going to come pretty early." He states. 

"Yeah," Bucky murmurs, looking deep into his new glass for the courage to stand up and follow Steve, go back to the special private room that he has and tell him with his hands and his lips and his whole being just how much he means to Bucky.

But he doesn't. Steve's wonderful, smart, a natural leader. Handsome. He deserves a beautiful girl, to be a Captain, to lead them to victory. 

Steve deserves so much more than Bucky ever gave him a chance for.

Bucky doesn't deserve to fuck it up, not now that Steve is happy.


End file.
